


A Vision They Shared

by Sjukdom



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, gobblepotweek2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sjukdom/pseuds/Sjukdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Jim came to Oswald's club with a different intention and this intention included a cello?<br/>***<br/>Written for Gobblepot Week 2015 - Day 2: Scene Rewrite (Jim coming to the club)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Vision They Shared

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, so feel free to tell me about any mistakes :)

Oswald stayed in the club long after thelast customer left it, stumbling and laughing, not aware of the rain pouring outside. Sometimes he stayed just to be alone for some time, sitting in silence with nobody woorying him, sometimes he watched new artists, who wished to perform on his stage. The closed club seemed unnaturally still and silent. It was strange but somehow calming, like being inside a womb, in safety. Thinking so, Oswald put out all the lights, leaving only one lamp on the table he occupied. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, relaxing a little after another busy night. Here there were only him and the gloom, embracing him like a tender lover. 

Not for long.

Oswald heard the doors opening and scowled with displeasure. He turned to the entrance, ready for an argument. Somebody stepped inside - a silhouette, holding something big in its hands - and turned on another lamp, lightning his face with the soft orange glow. Stunned, Oswald saw Jim, smiling at him a little. His heart lost a couple of beats as he tried to find words to express - what? Surprise? Delight? Confusion?

"Aren't you afraid to be here alone?" asked Jim, moving towards him, naturally amused by Oswald's reaction. "Or are there some of your guys hiding in the shadows?"

"No-one is there", answered Oswald involuntary. Now he could the thing Jim was holding - a black leather-covered wallet. The sight of it made him remember what such things were for in Gotham. Jim laughed, seeing his frightened expression.

"There're no guns in here, you know."

"Why did come here?" asked Oswald a bit too harsh. Deeply, he was glad to have Jim finally all for himself, without Butch wandering around and sardonic smiles of Harvey Bullock. He blushed and Jim might have noticed it, because his smile grew wider.

"I've come to audition."

"What -"

"You need somebody to perform here, right? That's why I've come. I play cello", Jim clapped the leathery surface of the wallet. "Would you like to listen?"

"Didn't know you play... Anything", murmured Oswald, watching in fascination, how Jim went up the stage and opened the wallet. 

"Oh yes! A cop shouldn't be able to do such things, right?" asked Jim ironically, placing a chair in the middle of the stage. He sat and took the cello carefully, a wonderful thing made of dark wood, which strings which strings flickered silvery in semi-darkness. Jim ran his fingers across the fingerboard of the instrument, making Oswald shift uncomfortably in his chair. The situation became more an more weird. He was with Jim, who played cello for him in the empty club – could he have fallen asleep accidentally? 

He watched Jim squeezing the cello with his knees, embarrassed by the feeling of arousal. Oswald couldn't say he never thought of being with Jim more than friends – he did. His first encounters with Jim were very intense and very tactile – no surprise he was so impressed with him. But dreaming about being closer to Jim was one thing; it was safe to imagine him in the bed beside him, whispering lustful things in Oswald's ear, his hands wandering around his body, pinching his nipples into hard points, stroking his hard cock, circling with fingers around his tightly clenched arsehole before thrusting inside deeply. Having such thoughts in front of real Jim – oh, he really shouldn't have remembered them right now – was not safe at all. Oswald could never predict Jim's reaction. Otherwise, hadn't he come here on his own?

“Hey, are you still here?” Jim waved him with the fiddle-stick. “Ready?”

“Of course”, answered Oswald, trying to look calm. Jim touched the strings with the fiddle-stick, making cello moan softly, the sound trembling slightly, accompanied by others, appearing under Jim's hands. The melody was slow, charming, with a touch of oriental notes within it. Oswald felt beads of sweat on his forehead. Jim played without any hurry, as if he had the whole night to play, every note perfectly practiced, but somehow the music also sounded like improvisation. All pictures Oswald imagined about he and Jim making love eagerly now were with him again, entwined with this vivid sounds. He thought if this was the goal of Jim's coming here. Oswald jerked, when music stopped and touched the corner of his mouth involuntarily. Jim watched him from the stage, smirking smugly, his knees still squeezing the cello.

“So what do you think as a club owner? Will I be successful here?”

Oswald looked him right in the eyes. He noticed that Jim' s hand, the one holding the fiddle-stick, was trembling slightly. Suddenly a thought came to him, strange, but in its own manner obvious – what if he was not the only one having such dreams? Excited by the thought, Oswald smiled sweetly and said:

“ _As a club owner_ , I would like to have a private performance in a more suitable place. Would you mind?”

Jim leaned on the cello:

“Okay, but give me a few moments before getting up.”

The both of them laughed. Maybe it was time to turn the visions into reality.


End file.
